26. Sebastian
Sebastian
Looking around my office, I search for anything I’ve left behind. Six p.m. exactly—I watch the second-hand tick past twelve on the wall clock. Time to go home.
I’m leaving work and I’m not sick. I’m not going to the emergency clinic. I don’t have a meeting about the sanctuary. I’m not going to Flick’s condo…
That last one is a real bitch to think about.
It’s been several days since Flick broke up with me, and each hour has dragged into the next.
Even with all the things going on in my life, it feels like I have nothing to look forward to.
I keep glancing over my shoulder, thinking about the good times Flick and I had, obsessing over how I could have done things differently, and wondering if there’s still a way I can repair what shattered, and hoping she’s safe.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly drop it while frantically pulling it from my pocket, heart hammering in my chest. Could it be—damn.
Lil’s name glows on the screen. Not Flick. Not anymore.
My chest constricts and I rub my fist against the ache to ease the pain while I check the message.
Call me. Much to discuss about the deal.
Lil—like everyone and everything else—only reminds me of Flick. It was on Lil’s land that Flick and I kissed in that sun-dappled barn, that the stray cat, who now goes by Barney and lives in the office, climbed onto Flick’s lap.
I stare at the text, not realizing I’m clenching my teeth until my jaw starts throbbing.
The sanctuary. My dream project. Everything I’ve worked toward for the past two years, finally within reach.
“Mrreeeow.”
Barney comes to my office doorway, orange tail shaking with happiness. Walking past me, he jumps into the windowsill where his food bowl waits.
The crunching of kibble fills the room, the only sound aside from my pounding heart. Everything is in place for the sanctuary. The donors came through; the money has all been moved into one account.
I should call Lil. Wire the money. Sign the papers. Make this dream real.
My finger hovers over her contact. One tap. That’s all it would take.
But my hand won’t move.
Because somewhere between meeting Flick and losing her, the dream shifted.
Became less about the sanctuary and more about building something with her.
Showing her the plans over breakfast. Watching her face light up when I described the cattery design.
Her suggestion about a sensory garden for the animals—“Lavender and catnip and those grasses cats love to nibble.”
The weight of it crashes over me, and I sink into my desk chair. The leather creaks under my weight, a sound that’s become too familiar these past years. How many hours have I spent in this chair? How many things have I let pass me by?
“I use work as an excuse to avoid feeling things,” I say to Barney.
He pauses mid-crunch to give me a look that clearly says No kidding, genius.
My brother’s words echo in my skull. “You’re drowning, Sebastian. Using work like armor.”
He’s right. God help me, he’s been right all along.
The sanctuary isn’t my dream anymore. It’s my escape route. Another project to bury myself in, another excuse to work eighteen-hour days. Another way to avoid the crushing loneliness of that empty house.
Another way to avoid being hurt again.
Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Jessica left because I couldn’t fix her depression. Couldn’t be enough. And when Flick came along, I did the same damn thing—tried to manage her life, fix her problems, be the solution instead of just... being there.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s my brother.
Haven’t heard from you. You okay?
I stare at the screen until the words blur. When did I become this person? This ghost who moves through life checking off tasks, filling every moment with obligations to avoid feeling anything real?
When Jessica asked for the divorce. That’s when.
“I love you, but I’m drowning,” she’d said, her wedding ring already on the kitchen table between us. “And you keep trying to throw me life preservers when what I need is someone to just sit with me in the water.”
I’d failed her. Failed at the one thing that should have mattered most. So I threw myself into work, into the practice, into the emergency clinic. Built walls of busyness so high I couldn’t see over them.
Until Flick.
Flick, who saw through every defense. Who made me want to slow down, to savor morning coffee, to waste entire afternoons untangling yarn. Who showed me what I’d been missing while I was so busy staying busy.
And I’d ruined it the same way I ruined things with Jessica. By trying to fix instead of just being.
My chest tightens, but this time it’s not from panic. It’s from clarity. Sharp and painful and absolutely necessary.
I don’t want the sanctuary. Not really. Not anymore.
What I want is a life. A real one. With actual dinners at normal hours and weekends that don’t involve emergencies. With time to read those veterinary journals for interest, not obligation. With space to figure out who Sebastian Blum is when he’s not drowning in work.
With Flick, if she’ll have me. If I haven’t destroyed everything with my need to manage and fix and control.
The wall clock ticks steadily. 7:14 now. The Chronic Pain Crafters meet on Wednesdays. Flick mentioned it once, how the routine helped her feel grounded. How those women understood things about her life that others couldn’t.
She’ll be there. Right now. Only a short distance away.
I could call. Leave a voicemail she might delete without listening. Send a text she might ignore.
Or I could show up. Really show up. Not with solutions or care packages or twelve-point plans for making her life easier. Just... me. Flawed and frightened and finally ready to stop running.
“Watch the office,” I tell Barney, already grabbing my keys.
He yawns, showing every one of his tiny teeth, then returns to his kibble. Priorities.
The clinic door slams behind me as I rush to my car. Now I just need to figure out what the hell I’m going to say.
I can see Knit Happens’ warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk as I park outside. Through the window, shadows move—the crafters settling in for their meeting.
I take a deep breath and get out, my steps falter at the door. What if she tells me to leave? What if I’ve hurt her too badly? What if?—
No. No more what-ifs. No more running. No more armor.
Just truth.